


The World of Daisy Johnson

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, F/M, Hangover, POV Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy and Coulson get drunk after a mission and he has a brilliant idea.





	

He has a brilliant idea. Granted, it might not seem that brilliant when he is sober. but for now, he’s got a brilliant, sweet idea. What happened to the word “sweet” by the way? He knows it probably dates him - and the last thing he wants while having a drink with Daisy on a Friday night is to be dated - but he liked when people used it, when it was fashionable. A sweet idea, yes.

He grabs Daisy’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Come with me to my office a moment,” he says. Daisy narrows her eyes at him. “No, not _that_.”

He slips his hand from hers and to her elbow, pulling her gently.

Daisy was sad. He doesn’t like that. Of course he never likes _that_ , obviously. but her sadness has become a personal affront since they have recently become lovers (he likes that word so much, it’s so 18th century and so romantic and sexy). What’s the point of him if he can make Daisy’s existence, if not happier, less sad? Useless, he would be just as useless as he has been all his life. Never went to college, never had his own family, never really had a high position in SHIELD, let Hydra run everything without noticing, useless. The least he could do in his sorry life (he did warn Daisy he was a mopey drunk) is be able to cheer her up.

So, he has a brilliant idea.

Because he’s bad with words.

He knows she has taken the latest mission a bit harshly. Nothing catastrophic had happened, but a couple of Inhumans had gotten hurt and the new legislation to protect them was advancing very slow and Daisy had been frustrated for weeks and now she is sad. Sad and feeling powerless, which he knows it’s the worst feeling for Daisy, up there with feeling like she has no control. He might be drunk but he knows this.

It’s the whole reason why he is drunk actually.

She marched into the plane kitchen and declared she was going to get smashed and that he didn’t have to stay if he didn’t want. Tough luck, Coulson though. He always wants to stay with her. Even she has to go throw up - it’s never happened, she doesn’t really drunk often, but if it happens Coulson would stay, even so, even though he’s pretty squeamish about that stuff. Merely thinking about it is almost making him gag.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asks, sounding drunk but not worryingly so. “You look pale. Are you going to be sick? Do you want me to take you to the bathroom?”

She is stroking his back comfortingly upon the imagined sickness.

“What? No.”

He hurries inside his office. His idea, right. Because he’s bad at telling Daisy what she needs to know. She needs to know she is amazing and courageous and inspiring and badass and hot and radiant and amazing (he thinks about that one twice) and also all the adjectives he found in the romance paperbacks he used to steal from his mom when he was fifteen, which never really had adjectives for women like Daisy. His thoughts are all jumbled (he was skeptic at first but Daisy was right, _it was_ good vodka) but no, no, there is more he wants to say, because Daisy is sad tonight and a world where Daisy is sad is an unfair world and he loves her so much, and he has always loved her so much, in whatever capacity he has been capable of, from the beginning and wants to tell her that and that he knows she has been through so much: her crappy childhood, her loneliness, Ward’s betrayal (he feels responsible for that in part), and the trauma of her powers, and losing her family, and Hive (he feels responsible for that in full), and Lincoln and the Inhuman manhunt and - he wishes he could make up for any of that yet he can’t, he can’t even tell her properly, just that if she wants to get drunk after a bad mission he’ll be there by her side, even if he is not as smooth as the heroes in the romance novels he used to steal from his mom when he was fifteen, boy he wishes.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

“Is it your penis? Because newsflash, I’ve already seen your penis. A lot.”

“You really like saying that word,” he points out.

“Penis? Yeah, I’m very shocking.”

He lets out a complicated groan. He does enjoy hearing Daisy say the word “penis”, especially if she’s referring to his particular penis, but he also doesn’t want to get distracted from his brilliant, sweet idea.

He grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. It’s mean to be comforting. He thinks he might be failing to convey that. 

“Look, I know you’re having a hard time. I know you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she says drunkely stubbornly.

“Okay. But just - let me show you this.”

He opens one of the drawers of the side cupboard. Daisy looks at him still suspiciously but following his movements. He stands back and lets her discover the contents for herself. She takes a couple of pieces of paper from the inside.

“Are these…?”

“The newspaper clipping from when I - when SHIELD was trying to catch up with you. Oh I like this one the best,” he says, pointing at the one about Daisy robbing a bank. Sexy thief. He didn’t say that out loud now, did he?

Daisy stares at her own image - of versions of her image, caught on a security feed, or a sketch from a witness’ description - and Coulson feels… well, he doesn’t have the world, he feels filled with something big and bright. He’s so proud. Not of the clipping, that’s just the memento - and the fact that he held on to them, even after SHIELD had already caught up with her, should have been _a fucking clue, you fool_ , but he was very slow about this - but he feels very proud and privileged to live in the world of Daisy Johnson. That’s what this means, what he wanted to show her.

He really thought this was a great idea. That it would convey to Daisy how crazy he is about her, how much he has always admired her, even before they became lovers. He hoped she might find it touching, even. 

But Daisy just laughs.

Loud.

Really loud.

Like it’s the funniest shit she’s ever seen and suddenly he really is fifteen again, reading softcore novels in her room because the girls and boys he gets crushes on are likely to see how pathetic his feelings are.

Daisy seems to notice his expression because she stops - tries to, anyway, obviously making an effort to keep herself from laughing. She grabs him by the arm, shaking him slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” she tells him, and the laughter escapes her mouth for a moment before she can suppress it.

“No? Because it feels like you might be laughing at me.”

“No, no, it’s just - it’s hysterical laughter.”

“What?”

“You really love me,” she says. She’s not laughing, but she is grinning.

“Mmm what?”

“Look at this,” she says, holding up the clipping. “You are crazy about me.”

Coulson rolls his eyes.

“Okay, okay.”

“Aw, come here.”

He doesn’t seem to have much choice in the matter (not that he wants to), as Daisy already has her arms around him even before the newspaper cuttings hit the floor. Her mouth tastes like vodka, but better than his own vodka-tasting mouth, and he wonders how come he can tell the different, as they kiss in the middle to his office.

Soon Daisy snakes her hand between their bodies.

“I thought you were going to show me _something_ ,” she says, skillfully undoing his fly and slipping one hand inside his pants.

“You know how much we’ve drunk?” Coulson snorts as her fingers wrap around him. He shakes his head. “It’s not going to be very collaborative.”

“Well, who says we can’t still have fun with him like that?”

He fixes her a look. When sober she’s not one for dirty talk, despite her “I’m shocking” declaration (she is really, really not).

Daisy rubs her thumb across the tip and of course she is right, plenty of interesting things they can still do like this. Coulson grabs her face and kisses her hard. “Lead the way,” he tells her.

She seems to have forgotten about the clippings (thank god, suddenly Coulson can see how pathetic that is) and they make their way, stumbling, to the bunk he has behind the office. Then she goes down on his soft cock and that doesn’t really do much except it feels very good and then Daisy starts laughing about the clippings again and Coulson feels silly or would feel silly of the alcohol and the nice oral sex would let him feel anything other than contentment and love.

 

+

 

That was a bad idea.

The whole thing.

Specially the drinks.

He had wanted to keep Daisy company but she is thirty, he can’t compete with her metabolism. There’s probably some Inhuman trick involved because when he wakes up and crawls his way to the kitchen, the first time in years he’s felt nauseous sleeping in a plane on the air, Daisy is already there, making coffee and looking fresh. She has some dark under her eyes but of course that looks sexy on her. Coulson doubts his hangover looks sexy. He probably looks like a bowl of fruit somebody forgot and now it’s rotten.

She looks at him as he slowly sits down in one of the stools. 

“Coffee?”

He can barely hear hear over the constant thudding and throbbing in his head. He never really believed he was “too old for” anything, but maybe he is, maybe he is too old to “get smashed” with his much younger girlfriend and then embarrassingly confess the extent of his love through carefully kept mementos and … god, he had really acted like a cock (pun absolutely and shamefully intended), hadn’t he.

“Toast?” Daisy offers as well.

“I know I should say no but I’m going to say yes,” he tells her, hungry.

His mouth feels like sandpaper, it’s a cliché for a reason, it also feels like the day after a bad fight with someone stronger than you. 

Daisy pushes a glass full of red liquid towards him.

“I knew you’d be feeling the vodka this morning,” she tells him. “This is my thanks for staying with me last night, for keeping me company. Daisy Johnson’s famous hangover cure.”

He thinks it’s going to taste horrible but it doesn’t. It tastes refreshing and the spices work magic, clearing his head almost immediately.

This might be able to placate his hangover, okay, but it won’t do nothing for his bruised ego.

“Look, can we forget last night ever happened?” he pleads with her.

Daisy chuckles. “No way.”

That’s it, his hangover-addled brain tells him, she is never going to want to be with him again, he is not going to be able to use the word “lovers” anymore when it comes to her. He can’t blame her, after last night’s spectacle, even if you don’t could the whole uncollaborative-penis deal.

She sits opposite him, waiting for the bread to toast.

“I was sad last night,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“Yeah…” She looks a bit embarrassed about it, like she is not 100% comfortable with him knowing so much about her. It’s okay, he can pull back if she needs him to.

“Sorry if I was a bit too intense last night. With the whole...”

He tries to find a gesture that communicates the idea of _I’m sorry if keeping all those Quake newspaper items is creepy_ but he can’t find any.

“You weren’t,” Daisy tells him, placing a toast on his plate and the other one on hers. For a moment the image is terrible domestic (he is old-fashioned like that, Coulson admits) and he almost forgets what they were talking about. “You were very sweet. I’m just not used to that.”

“Sweet?”

She nods. 

He’s fifty-four, he’s not sure about being called “sweet” at his age.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks.

“Yes. Thank you,” she says. “You are not going to live this down, though.”

“Daisy-”

“ _Phillip_ ,” she says, arching one of her unfairly-expressive eyebrows. “You were collecting newspaper clipping about me.”

“In my defense it started as a work thing.”

She reaches across the little counter, wrapping her fingers around his nape. That feels good first thing in the morning, the way she is stroking the back of his neck, like she is indulging a pet, and it actually lessens the throbbing in his head.

“You were collecting newspaper clipping about me,” she repeats, but the tone is different now. She is not mocking him. “You make me feel like I’m this amazing person.”

“You are an amazing person.”

She comes over and presses a soft kiss to his mouth.

“See what I mean?”

She kisses him once, twice more, before settling on the stool next to him and getting on with their breakfast. Coulson follows her lead. He doesn’t feel nauseous anymore, in fact the humming of the plane under and around him starts feeling quite pleasant. He decides maybe they can do it some other time, the whole staying up drinking their sorrows away thing. It’s not so bad. Especially if he gets this hangover cure from her. He’s still too old for something like last night, but he’s not too old for this whole morning after. And he’s never throwing those clipping away.


End file.
